


Golden Boy

by bluefeatherofhappiness (orphan_account)



Category: DMMd, DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: A world without Sei, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Popstar, Childhood Friends, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Growing Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2222838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bluefeatherofhappiness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As kids, Koujaku, Ren, and Aoba were one of Japan's hottest idol groups. But at age 23, Koujaku broke up the band to pursuit a solo career. Years have passed, and Koujaku is heating up as a solo artist. Ren and Aoba, now living together, have tried to move on with their lives, but Aoba has a hard time letting go of the music, and the things said that day. But one day, Aoba receives an unexpected call...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a universe without Sei. The story of Aoba's childhood is still the same, but his origin is much more "normal". Sei!Ren was never a dog, and is not physically related to Aoba, although their relationship remains pretty much the same. Everything else- the setting, Toue Inc, and the game of Rhyme are all pretty much the same, but significantly less malevolent. 
> 
> This chapter was completed on the 30th of August, 2014.

Aoba stood behind the counter at Heibon Junk Shop, idly doodling on the back of an old delivery form. He sighed. Another slow day. The song playing from his Coil’s radio application ended and an announcer’s voice chimed in.

“…that was ‘ _Blue Ocean Sounds_ ’, by Toue’s Clear and the Alphas. You’re listening to Midorijima Radio, bringing you the hottest songs and the freshest beats to help get you through the work day. Up next is a new single from native superstar, Koujaku...”

Aoba’s ears pricked up at the sound of his childhood friend’s name. He turned the up the volume on the Coil.

“…who, after having a few rough years out of the spotlight, comes back into the music scene swinging. Isn’t that right, Tanya?”

“Absolutely, Shuu! Koujaku is back and hotter than ever! Me-yow! I mean, we all had the biggest crush on him when he was part of that boy band back in the day, but wow, just like a fine wine, he just gets better with age!”

Aoba made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes. _Some_ things certainly never changed.

“You said it. Anyway, here’s his latest track, _Unforgettable,_ from his upcoming album of the same name.”

A few mellow piano chords floated from the speakers, and after a few seconds, Koujaku’s familiar voice- a little deeper, a little huskier than Aoba remembered it, but unmistakably his- crooned along to the piano’s accompaniment.

He wasn’t really paying attention to the lyrics- they were some generic bullshit about some girl Koujaku ‘would never forget’. _As if,_ Aoba thought, _you’d just be calling her ‘girl’ if you’d really never forget her._ Both he and Koujaku both knew that was just good marketing. Hell, even after Aoba practically came out, their ghost writers _still_ wrote songs addressed to girls he, Koujaku, and Ren were ‘in love with’. God, he was so happy to be out of that business. Well, sort of. At least, that’s what he told Ren whenever it came up in conversation.

To be honest, he did miss it a little-the excitement, the money, the feelings of camaraderie- but for each one of those things, there were things that he didn’t miss at all, like paparazzi, overinflated egos, and friendship-threatening arguments. His brow furrowed at the memory of the night Koujaku told the two of them that he was planning on leaving the group after that last tour ended. It was only when his Coil rang did he realize he was gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles looked white.

So he was a little resentful of how things ended, he thought to himself. No one could blame him for that.

He answered it the ringing phone, and a smiling image of his boyfriend popped up on the display. He smiled back. Just the sight of Ren cheered him up a little.

“Hey, Ren. You finished with work?” He forced his voice to sound cheerful.

“Yes, my shift just ended.” There was a slight pause before Ren’s deep bass continued, “Aoba, is there something wrong?” Aoba winced. He’d laid on the cheer a little too thickly.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he lied. “Just thinking about some stuff.”

“Hmm.” Ren sounded unconvinced, but he let it drop. “Well, your grandma called me and asked if I could pick some things up from the store for her, so I was wondering what you wanted for dinner tonight.”

“That depends, is it you or grandma cooking?”

“Aooooobaaaaa.” He could hear Ren’s exhausted sigh through the speakers. “I know you’re trying to be funny, but I really don’t like it when you say bad things about my cooking.”

“I never said it was _bad_ …it’s just an acquired taste, that’s all.”

Ren huffed moodily. “Say what you will about my food, but it managed to feed myself and the other kids for years. In fact,” he continued, “if it weren’t for my cooking, we never would have met.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the story. ” Aoba sighed wearily. “I’ll see you at home, okay?” He ended the call. He didn’t need to hear Ren’s lectures again.

Whereas Aoba and Koujaku had been lucky enough to live in the same area, Ren grew up in an orphanage. He and several others were taken in by a foster family, but since there were a lot of them and their foster parents’ finances were spread pretty thinly even with one kid, Ren acted as a caretaker for all of them while they were younger. Then, the day he was old enough, he went out and got a job at a restaurant to help pay the bills.

As Ren told the story, he’d been late cleaning up, and while singing on his way home he was approached by a man from the production company. He told Ren that his company was looking to put a new singing group together and that someone with his good looks and talent should go audition for the program.

Aoba wasn’t sure how true that story was, but Ren swore up and down it really happened that way. Needless to say, he ended up auditioning, and the three of them were conditioned into becoming the greatest talents the island had produced in years. As the idol business went, the three of them were quickly measured up and shoehorned into larger-than life caricatures of themselves. Koujaku, “the cool, rebellious one”, was the one girls were always swooning over. Ren, naturally, was “the kind, sensitive one". At the time, he’d still retained enough of his effeminate looks for the talent agency to decide to brand him as “the cutesy one”. And thus had begun eight long years of oppressive infantilization.

Aoba caught himself scowling in the reflection of the computer monitor, and angrily shut off the radio app. Sitting in silence was better than listening to this stupid vanilla pop bullshit.

Even after leaving work and eating dinner, Aoba couldn’t get his mind off of Koujaku and the past. He flopped onto the couch and sighed wearily. Ren, leaning over the back of the couch, tucked the loose stands of Aoba’s ponytail behind his ear, and kissed him on forehead.

“Aoba.” He didn’t respond. “Aoba. Did you have a long day at work?” Ren nuzzled his neck, his warm breath tickling Aoba’s ear. Aoba just stared vacantly at the ceiling, preoccupied with his thoughts. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke.

“Ren…Do you think we did the right thing?” Ren frowned, his brow furrowing.

“It wasn’t our choice to make, Aoba. We did what we could.” His kissed his boyfriend’s neck, stroking his silky blue hair. “I mean, I know our situation isn’t ideal, but we both agreed we wanted out anyway. In a way, he did the dirty work for us.”

“But if I tried harder to get him to stay, we could’ve afforded to get grandma a nice house. We could’ve probably afforded a place for ourselves, too. Things would’ve been a lot different.” Sighing, Ren walked around and took a seat next to him.

“Aoba, even if that’s true, there’s no good in dwelling on the past. Whatever what would have happened doesn’t matter anymore. What matters now is that we all figure out what the future is…together.” Ren took a hold of his hand, and smiled at him. It was a smile that dissipated Aoba’s gloom like the rays of the sun breaking through a storm cloud, and Aoba found himself smiling back under its warmth. He laid his head on Ren’s broad, strong shoulders, feeling all of his anger and tension slip out of him and fade away.

“You’re right…as always.” He smiled wanly at him. “Come on. Let’s go to bed."

Aoba stood behind the counter at Heibon Junk Shop, idly doodling on the back of an old delivery form. He sighed. Another slow day. The song playing from his Coil’s radio application ended and an announcer’s voice chimed in.

“…that was ‘Blue Ocean Sounds’, by Toue’s Clear and the Alphas. You’re listening to Midorijima Radio, bringing you the hottest songs and the freshest beats to help get you through the work day. Up next is a new single from native superstar, Koujaku...”

Aoba’s ears pricked up at the sound of his childhood friend’s name. He turned the up the volume on the Coil.

“…who, after having a few rough years out of the spotlight, comes back into the music scene swinging. Isn’t that right, Tanya?”

“Absolutely, Shuu! Koujaku is back and hotter than ever! Me-yow! I mean, we all had the biggest crush on him when he was part of that boy band back in the day, but wow, just like a fine wine, he just gets better with age!”

Aoba made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes. _Some_ thingscertainly never changed.

“You said it. Anyway, here’s his latest track, _Unforgettable,_ from his upcoming album of the same name.”

A few mellow piano chords floated from the speakers, and after a few seconds, Koujaku’s familiar voice- a little deeper, a little huskier than Aoba remembered it, but unmistakably his- crooned along to the piano’s accompaniment.

He wasn’t really paying attention to the lyrics- they were some generic bullshit about some girl Koujaku ‘would never forget’. _As if,_ Aoba thought, _you’d just be calling her ‘girl’ if you’d really never forget her._ Both he and Koujaku both knew that was just good marketing. Hell, even after Aoba practically came out, their ghost writers _still_ wrote songs addressed to girls he, Koujaku, and Ren were ‘in love with’. God, he was so happy to be out of that business. Well, sort of. At least, that’s what he told Ren whenever it came up in conversation.

To be honest, he did miss it a little-the excitement, the money, the feelings of camaraderie- but for each one of those things, there were also things that he didn’t miss at all like paparazzi, overinflated egos, and friendship-threatening arguments. His brow furrowed at the memory of the night Koujaku told the two of them that he was planning on leaving the group after that last tour ended.  It was only when his Coil rang did he realize he was gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles looked white. So he was a little resentful of how things ended, he thought to himself. No one could blame him for that.

He answered it the ringing phone, and a smiling image of his boyfriend popped up on the display. He smiled. Just the sight of Ren cheered him up a little.

“Hey, Ren. You finished with work?” He forced his voice to sound cheerful.

“Yes, my shift just ended.” There was a slight pause before Ren’s deep bass continued, “Aoba, is there something wrong?” Aoba winced. He’d laid on the cheer a little too thickly.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he lied. “Just thinking about some stuff.”

“Hmm.” Ren sounded unconvinced, but he let it drop. “Well, your grandma called me and asked if I could pick some things up from the store for her, so I was wondering what you wanted for dinner tonight.”

“That depends, is it you or grandma cooking?”

“Aooooobaaaaa.” He could hear Ren’s exhausted sigh through the speakers. “I know you’re trying to be funny, but I really don’t like it when you say bad things about my cooking.”

“I never said it was _bad_ ….it’s just an acquired taste, that’s all.”

Ren huffed moodily. “Say what you will about my food, but it managed to feed myself and the other kids for years. In fact,” he continued, “if it weren’t for my cooking, we never would have met.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the story. ” Aoba sighed wearily.  “I’ll see you at home, okay?” He ended the call. He didn’t need to hear Ren’s lectures again.

Whereas Aoba and Koujaku had been lucky enough to live in the same area, Ren grew up in an orphanage. He and several others were taken in by a foster family, but since there were a lot of them and their foster parents’ finances were spread pretty thinly even with one kid, Ren acted as a caretaker for all of them while they were younger. Then, the day he was old enough, he went out and got a job at a restaurant to help pay the bills.

As Ren told the story, he’d been late cleaning up, and while singing on his way home he was approached by a man from the production company. He told Ren that his company was looking to put a new singing group together and that someone with his good looks and talent should go audition for the program.

Aoba wasn’t sure how true that story was, but Ren swore up and down it really happened that way. Needless to say, he ended up auditioning, and the three of them were conditioned into becoming the greatest talents the island had produced in years. As the idol business went, the three of them were quickly measured up and shoehorned into larger-than life caricatures of themselves. Koujaku, “the cool, rebellious one”, was the one girls were always swooning over. Ren, naturally, was “the kind, sensitive one. At the time, he’d still retained enough of his effeminate looks for the talent agency to decide to brand him as “the cutesy one”.  And thus had begun eight long years of oppressive infantilization.

Aoba caught himself scowling in the reflection of the computer monitor, and angrily flipped off the radio. Sitting in silence was better than listening to this stupid vanilla pop bullshit.

 

 

Even after leaving work and eating dinner, Aoba couldn’t get his mind off of Koujaku and the past. He flopped onto the couch and sighed wearily. Ren, leaning over the back of the couch, tucked the loose stands of Aoba’s ponytail behind his ear and kissed him on forehead.

“Aoba.”  He didn’t respond. “Aoba. Long day at work?” Ren nuzzled his neck, his warm breath tickling Aoba’s ear. Aoba just stared vacantly at the ceiling.

“Ren…Do you think we did the right thing?” Ren frowned, his brow furrowing.

“It wasn’t our choice to make, Aoba. We did what we could.” His kissed his boyfriend’s neck, stroking his silky blue hair. “I mean, I know our situation isn’t ideal, but we both agreed we wanted out anyway. In a way, he did the dirty work for us.”

“But if I tried harder to get him to stay, we could’ve afforded to get grandma a nice house. We could’ve probably afforded a place for ourselves, too. Things would’ve been a lot different.” Sighing, Ren walked around and took a seat next to him.

“Aoba, even if that’s true, there’s no good in dwelling on the past. Whatever what would have happened doesn’t matter anymore. What matters now is that we all figure out what the future is…together.” Ren took a hold of his hand, and smiled at him. It was a smile that dissipated Aoba’s gloom like the rays of the sun breaking through a storm cloud, and Aoba found himself smiling back under its warmth. He laid his head on Ren’s broad, strong shoulders, feeling all of his anger and tension slip out of him and fade away.

“You’re right…as always.” He smiled wanly at him. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

 

 

When he woke up the next morning, there was a sticky note stuck to the headboard:

_‘Aoba- I didn’t want to wake you on your day off. You need your rest. I’ll see you later._

_Love, Ren.’_

It was mid-afternoon, and what little light reached his balcony window was filtering in through the gap in the curtains. Suddenly, his Coil rang, making him jump. Frowning, he inspected the caller ID. It was an unknown caller. He smoothed his hair back and answered.

“Hello…?”

“Hey.” A familiar voice answered, “It’s been a while.”

“...Koujaku?” Aoba felt his stomach churn. “What the hell…? How did you get this number?” A sigh from the other end of the line.

“Nice to hear from you too, Aoba. I’ve been absolutely fine. Great to know I’ve been so missed.” Aoba could just picture him playing with his bangs as he spoke.

“You didn’t answer me.”

Another exhausted sigh from Koujaku. “Ren and I have been keeping each other updated since the two of you moved in together. He said that if you weren’t being so stubborn you’d be doing the same thing.”

“Like hell I would!” Aoba snarled.

“Listen Aoba, I didn’t call you to dig up old arguments. I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to be in town this upcoming weekend, and I was wondering if you and Ren wanted to get together and hang out. Like the old days.” Aoba was silent. “I… I miss you. Both of you. You’re family to me.”

Aoba bit his lip, holding back the angry accusations swirling in his head. _You abandoned us. You broke the contract …! You sold us out and now we’ve got nothing. Family doesn’t do shit like that._

He heard Koujaku’s voice again, thick with sadness, “You’re the only family I have any more, Aoba. Please.” His voice cracked a bit, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t expect you to forgive me…but I need to see you guys.” Koujaku swallowed, forcing his voice to stay even. “My plane leaves tomorrow. Call me if you decide you want to meet up, okay? ….Bye.” There was a click, and then a dead tone. Aoba just sat on his bed, feeling a strange mixture of anger, confusion, and sadness. _What did Koujaku mean by ‘the only family he had left’…? Did something happen to his mother? Why did he only call now, after all these years? Why the fuck didn’t Ren tell him he was still talking with Koujaku?_ He flopped back onto the bed, rolling his questions around in his mind. None of it made any sense, and even though he’d just woken up, he suddenly felt exhausted.

For a few minutes he just laid in bed, tempted to lie there for a few more hours. But it really wasn’t his decision to make. Aoba might have a day off, but Sly Blue didn’t have that luxury. He got out of bed, and pulled on his old sweatshirt.


	2. Straight Outta Midorijima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his talk with Koujaku, Aoba heads out to meet some friends, and we learn that Aoba has a second life he's never told anyone about. In this chapter, we learn about the story of his alter ego, Sly Blue, and the following he's gained as a freestyle rapper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I am not a rapper. I am not good at writing verse. So any parts containing actual "rapping" will probably be of questionable quality at best.

It started out back when he was around thirteen. As Aoba Seragaki, the squeaky-clean golden boy of M-3, he was trapped. Day in and day out, he was forced to put on the playful persona of a bubbly child, and even when the curtain went down, the act had to continue. It was only in the privacy of the tour bus, away from the cameras and fans, that he could be himself. But a restlessness grew inside him. He wanted to go out and cause trouble, wanted to go out and do stupid shit- stuff like drinking, trying drugs, and kissing strangers. It wasn’t fair that Koujaku, as “the cool one”, was basically given carte blanche to do whatever the hell he wanted while Aoba was treated with kid gloves. So he created an alter ego to use whenever he snuck out- Sly Blue. And damn, did he utilize it.

After some time, Sly became more than another mask for Aoba to wear. Sly became his own entity- a depraved hunger that couldn’t be denied. A hunger for danger. Unable to satisfy himself with his existence as Aoba, he found himself doing more and more as Sly, and even started neglecting Aoba’s life and responsibilities. But then the band had broken up, and he basically lost everything. Without the access and the money he had before, it was hard to find a way to appease Sly’s ego. But about a month ago, Sly Blue took root in his new urban environment and began to flourish as his rap alias.

It started out as a lark, really- he had gone downtown, as Sly and found himself in a hip-hop club. He’d intended to go down there to start some sort of fight, blow off some steam, but before he could he noticed that the crowd’s focus was on a group of figures towards the front of the club. One of them came forward and addressed the crowd.

“Okay, y’all!” The Emcee shouted into the mic. “We got ourselves an old-school rap battle! Bloody Star versus my man, Phantom Viruuuuuus!” The crowd hooted. “Each rapper gets 30 seconds to rip the other apart with their rhymes. This is a three round match, and whoever wins the most rounds is the victor.” The crowd cheered. “Yeah, yeah, you all know how it goes! So let’s begin, starting with the challenger, Bloody Staaaaar! Ready? GO!” The Emcee pressed a button on his remote, and the speakers dropped the beat. Sly felt his heart pound in time with the snares, and when it was over, he knew he wanted to be up there. He left the venue in a daze, mind racing at the opportunity he just discovered. What was more exciting than living on the uncertainty of victory? What could possibly be more satisfying than absolutely obliterating someone who thought they had you on the run? A smile crept across his face.

He didn’t expect to be so good at it. Sly seemed to have some godly ability to string together quips and weave similes into verses that blew his opponents away. No matter who he was pitted against- young, old, girls, guys, newcomers, vets- he’d win in the stack up, every time. Because Sly Blue was that good. Even when the Emcees put in deliberate counter measures to ensure that pre-meditating any lines would be impossible, Sly _delivered._ Inevitably, he gained a following. Aspiring free-versers worshipped the pavement he walked on. Old hands grew to regard him with a mixture of admiration, respect, and yes, even fear. A friendly match against Sly was a lesson. To challenge him as an adversary was to end to your entire career.

One time, a follower of Sly Blue’s claimed, his verses messed his opponent so bad he went into a coma. The truth was that his opponent actually stumbled into the street and got hit by a motorcycle. But general consensus held that while the accident put him in the coma, it was Sly’s rhymes that put him in the bike’s path.

The most notable victims of Sly Blue’s unstoppable winning streak became his greatest advocate- a well-known delinquent who went by the stage name “Phantom Virus”. The thing about Virus was that by looks alone, you’d never guess he was a lyrical genius. He was a smarmy-lookin, glasses wearing blonde who looked better suited to sitting in a library or making notes in a ledger than spitting rhymes in the grungy streets of southside Midorijima. But those deceiving looks were his greatest asset. Like a snake, he lulled his opponents into a false sense of security, made them think he would be easy. But then, he’d strike- sudden, venomous, and deadly.

One member of Virus’ crew was a tall blonde with a sweet tooth who went by the name “Acidic Trip” (Trip, for short) and dropped beats for him. One observer once said that Trip seemed to relish Virus’ victories even more than Virus himself did. (Said observer was subsequently smacked in the head with a 2x4 by Trip and sent to the hospital.) The two of them were rarely separated-and that’s how both witnessed Sly’s verbal carnage first-hand.

The exact details of that battle have since been lost among the tall tales of Midorijima’s hip-hop scene. It might have started because of a club brawl. Maybe it was inevitable that the two of them face off. Or maybe, like some people speculate, it was Sly spurning Virus’ overtly sexual advances that led to the battle. The one thing everyone can agree on, though, was the soul-crushing verses that Sly ended the battle with:

_“Guess what, poindexter/there ain’t no vaccine/ for these sick rhymes I’m spittin/if you know what I mean_

_Your name is Phantom Virus?/You best disappear/Ya outta your league/and that’s abundantly clear_

_Your insults are weak/your verses are random/just like FDR/you’ve got no legs to stand on”_

 

It wasn’t long before he started writing entire songs and putting them online. Aoba enjoyed that part as much as Sly did. The small fanbase he had continued to grow, and before he knew what was happening, he’d agreed to perform in an underground nightclub, a venue secured by the co-presidents of his fan club. That’s where Aoba was headed on that sunny afternoon after he got the call from Koujaku.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will continue the story from Koujaku's perspective. I want to sorta do this on a regular schedule, so I guess look for another chapter sometime next week. :D Thanks for reading!


	3. Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koujaku arrives in Midorijima and meets up with Mizuki, who is living in Platinum Jail and is very sad about his life. Later, Koujaku discover's the true identity of the mysterious Sly Blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last updated 9/11, which makes this chapter totally complete now. I'm much more satisfied with it leaving off like this.

 Koujaku was waiting in Mizuki’s private suite in Aqua Forest, sitting on a black couch, drumming his fingers idly on the armrest. While it was true he’d insisted that they meet somewhere private, he didn’t expect Mizuki’s offer to put him up in one of the guest rooms while he was in back in town, and he certainly didn’t expect his friend to keep him waiting so long. When his plane had landed over an hour ago, he was received by a company representative that took him to the apartment with no further instructions except to make himself at home. It made him nervous to be in someone else’s home without them there, even if it was a friend’s house. Whenever he stayed or even visited someone else’s house, Koujaku reflected, it always made him hyper aware of his behavior, so much to the point it was hard for him to really relax.

On the flip side, hotels were practically anonymous- you were staying as a guest, but the room, more or less, was yours to trash without worrying about who cleaned it up. He doubted that Mizuki got the rooms regularly cleaned by a maid, despite the fact that it was a service Platinum Jail would easily provide, mostly because the tattooed producer prided himself on being down-to-earth. As a reflection of this, there were still binders and papers strewn across the coffee table, and a long-cold cigarette butt ground out into the ash tray. It appeared that, despite his fervent proclamations he would quit, Mizuki was still smoking when he got stressed out- something that happened a lot since he started working for Toue’s entertainment division.

Feeling restless, Koujaku shifted his position on the couch again, crossing and uncrossing his legs. Mizuki must be getting held up at work again, he reassured himself. There’s no way he’d forgotten he invited him. He was just thinking about what he would do if he was forgotten when the front door clicked open, announcing his friend’s arrival.

Koujaku rose from the couch with a grin, intending to say something smart-aleck about Mizuki partying too hard until he saw the haggard expression on his face. He met Mizuki hallway between the couch and the entrance, giving him a quick hug. He wanted to ask if Mizuki was okay, but the only thing that came out of Koujaku’s mouth was:

“Dude, you look like _shit._ ” Mizuki laughed, a weary grin breaking across his face, making the teardrop tattoo on his cheek wrinkle slightly.

“I _feel_ like shit.” Mizuki replied, running a hand through his shaggy red hair. He shrugged, as if to shake off his exhaustion, and asked, “So, how’ve you been?” He walked over to a decanter set on a nearby cabinet and poured himself a glass of some sort of dark liquor. (Koujaku wasn’t all that knowledgeable about the many varieties of alcohol Mizuki kept.) Mizuki, noticing his gaze, motioned towards a second glass. “You want a drink?” Koujaku politely declined.

“Things have been pretty good,” Koujaku replied, taking his seat back on the couch. “I can’t really complain- the tour’s going great, the latest album’s selling pretty well-“

Mizuki snorted. “’Pretty well’? It just reached gold status on the mainland last month. That’s fantastic.” Koujaku grinned sheepishly as Mizuki continued, “And all of that doesn’t even take into consideration that you’re on your own independent label. In charge of your own product. No one to answer to but yourself.” Mizuki sighed gloomily, leaned back on the couch, and took another swig of his drink. “You’re so lucky, man. You haven’t sold out. One of the few.” Koujaku gave what he hoped looked like a sympathetic smile.

“Mizu, you can’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve all sold out to a degree. Sometimes that’s what it takes in this business.”

“I know, I know.” Mizuki swirled his drink absentmindly, watching the way the light made the liquid change colors. “It’s just like, so many of these kids now don’t even have any proper musical training. Like, the group I’m composing for right now- Clear and the Alphas- they’ve got great voices, but they can’t read sheet music. Which is super weird, right? I mean, they’re robots, so you’d think Toue would program that in or something, but no. They know the names of notes and can tone-match pretty much anything, but once you try and organize that into a musical staff they just totally blank out. I don’t even think they can play piano.”

Koujaku smiled. He was still playing the part of ‘Old Man Mizuki’ after all. Last time they got onto this topic, he ended up ranting about how, even though M-3 had been basically manufactured by various music syndicates, they at least had the good sense to train Koujaku, Ren, and Aoba to be well-rounded performers. His complaints were perfectly valid, of course, especially considering Mizuki literally poured most of his life into understanding traditional music composition and performing before he started his recording studio. Not long after that, though, the “traditional” method of music production was declared to be dead by a prominent publication in the music industry. Things had been pretty rough for him ever since.

Mizuki waved a hand dismissively. “Toue’s got me working way above my pay grade. I’m not just composing and managing the recording; he’s basically got me babysitting those kids and visual design. It’s exhausting.” He sighed heavily and finished off the remains of his drink. “I’m sorry, I’m doing it again. Whining about my gilded cage.” He gestured vaguely at the rest of the apartment. “Didn’t even let you finish. Sorry about that.” Koujaku smiled. He knew that was just how Mizuki dealt with his life; he had to vent about his problems or else he’d go crazy.

“It’s okay, man. I didn’t have much else to talk about anyway.” He lied. “I spoke with Aoba the other day. Asked if he wanted to meet up.” He tried to sound casual about it, like it was something he didn’t give much thought to. Mizuki grinned wryly, leaning forward.

“Ah, so you’ve finally come around to the reunion tour idea, huh?”

Koujaku diverted his gaze to the floor, the wall, the empty air to his left, avoiding making contact with the green eyes across from him.

“Nah, I seriously doubt anything will come of it. I just wanted to see how they were doing. Maybe meet up for a drink or two. I don’t expect any major developments. I don’t even think he’ll agree to show up, honestly. I just wanted to give it another shot.” He kneaded his hands, studying the callouses on his guitar hand. “Life is too short to stay angry at people.” He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he’d believed that sooner. Mizuki, sensing the mood, changed topics.

“Speaking of giving things another shot,” he said, “What happened to you and that actress? You know, the one on the soap opera? The one with the chest,” he gestured outwards, “out to here? What happened with her? Weren’t you guys engaged?” Koujaku cringed, covering his face with his hands.

“Ugh, please don’t bring her up. That did not turn out well.”

“What happened?”

“Well, for one thing, I married her.” Koujaku replied dryly.

“Oh, congratulations!” Mizuki beamed before his smile disappeared just as quickly. “Wait, why wasn’t I invited?” Koujaku made a face.

“We separated after less than a year.”

  
“Serves you right. Didn’t even invite me to the wedding.” Mizuki pretended to sniff disdainfully, but couldn’t conceal his grin.

“Anyway, I haven’t been seeing anyone too seriously since then.”

“On that note,” Mizuki stood from the couch, “I think I’m gonna hit the sack. Got another recording session with the talent tomorrow. You don’t have to go up quite yet, but let me at least show you your room.”

 -----------

 

The next morning, Koujaku awoke to an empty apartment, Mizuki having already left for the studio hours ago. Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out his Allmate, Beni, and powered him on. The little red bird pecked at his fingers irritably.

“Hey, man, what the hell took you so long? I thought you were gonna wake me up after the plane ride!”

“Ah, shaddap, Beni. I didn’t want to bother Mizuki.”

“What?! Is that where we are?! Why didn’t you let me say hi to the ferret?”

“Stoat,” Koujaku corrected. “His Allmate is a stoat, not a ferret. I’m not even sure if Mizuki takes him to work, anyway, so there’ not much of a point.”

”That’s retarded. What’s the point of having an Allmate if you’re just gonna leave him in a desk somewhere?”

“That’s reminds me,” Koujaku flicked the sparrow’s forehead. “Any messages from Aoba?”

“Nah. You got the usual fanmail, though.” Beni groomed his artificial feathers for no apparent reason. “Oh yeah, there’s one in here from your sponsor too. He wanted to check up on you because she thinks that you’ll be more likely to break visiting your hometown. You want me to send her the usual?”

“Mmm.” Koujaku wasn’t really listening as he changed into a red kimono for the first time in several years. Kimonos weren’t exactly fashion-forward, so his outfits normally consisted of western clothes during most of his public appearances, but he always found that the comfort outweighed his desire to appear fashionable. Besides, he didn’t really feel like being Koujaku the pop star today. He just wanted to be Koujaku, the kid from Midorijima. Besides, if he did end up meeting with Aoba today, he might be more comfortable with the Koujaku from before they joined M-3. Maybe he’d actually listen to him before storming out.

Not for the first time, his eyes strayed to the tattoos covering his right arm, black swirling tendrils that wrapped around his chest and shoulder, ending at his wrist. Despite the dark ink, if you looked closely enough, you could still make out the scars he’d tried to cover up. Was that the real reason he was here, he suddenly wondered. What was he hoping Aoba would say to him, after all this time? Was he really doing this to apologize to Aoba, or was he just being selfish again? Koujaku tried to shake off the thought, but it seemed to ooze over his heart like black tar, dragging him downwards. He was brought back into the present moment by the flap of tiny wings and a red blur landing on the top of his head.

“Hey, dumbass! Don’t you ignore me! I’m talking to ya!” Beni stomped up and down impatiently, mussing his dark hair.

“Cut that out!” He reached up and snatched the tiny sparrow off his perch with one hand, smoothing back his hair with the other. Beni’s tiny face popped out from between his thumb and index finger and gave him the stink eye. “What is it, Beni?”

“Like I said, you just got a message from Ren. He says his break is coming up in an hour or two and he wants to meet up. You gonna go?”

\----------

               Unlike Aoba, Koujaku noted, Ren didn’t really change all that much physically. He was still tall and broad shouldered, and his current job had even improved his physique, making his arms more well-muscled and defined. He’d grown his dark hair out, but besides that, his fair skin and gold-brown eyes were very much the same. And of course, his voice was still as deep as the fucking ocean. It was pretty incredible that no one in the city had recognized him by it- not many men had a voice that was the Japanese equivalent of Barry White.

But then again, Ren had always been an underappreciated member of the band. Unlike Koujaku and Aoba, his persona as “the sensitive one” was less of a caricature and more of a reflection of his personal values. And people weren’t really all that interested in celebrities being “real”.

Regardless, Ren had always been the kind, sensitive one, and judging by the topic of their conversation, still was.

“I’m worried about Aoba.” Ren confessed. “I feel like he’s hiding something from me.” Koujaku’s brow furrowed.

“What, you think he’s cheating on you or something?”

“No, he wouldn’t do that.” Ren smiled, amused at the suggestion Aoba was the type of person to cheat. “It’s probably nothing, but he’s been going out on his own a lot. But something gives me the feeling that he’s doing something dangerous.” His golden eyes slid over to Koujaku and peered at him suspiciously. “You don’t have any idea what he could be doing, do you?” Koujaku’s heart jumped into his throat. The truth was, he did have an idea what Aoba- or rather, “Sly Blue”- was doing. But there was no way to tell whether or not Aoba was still going out as Sly anymore, and he seriously doubted that he’d get involved in fights or start doing drugs without Ren noticing.

So instead of telling how he’d promised to Aoba he’d never tell Ren what happened that one night in the discotheque, he lied and said,

“No clue.” Ren bought it, and shrugged off his morose thoughts of the situation.

“Anyway, Koujaku, there's something more important we need to talk about...” He leaned forward slightly. “I’m planning on asking Aoba to go out for dinner tomorrow night, but I want you to be there.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, he’ll be less likely to make a scene in a public place. If I invited you to the house, he might actually get physical. Either way I’m going to be in the doghouse, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Koujaku shifted uneasily in his seat. While it was true that Aoba wouldn’t be able to just walk out or shout at him in a public place, it still didn’t feel right to be so confrontational. But Ren probably knew what was best- after all, Aoba probably wasn’t the same stubborn-ass kid he was seven years ago. He might just hear him out if Ren was there to pacify him. So he agreed.

Mere seconds after he took a seat on the living room couch of the luxurious Blue Gardens Aqua Forest apartment, Mizuki entered the apartment. Koujaku looked up from his notebook, surprised.

“Hey. You’re home early.” He said. Mizuki didn’t respond. He took off his black and red leather jacket in a daze, hanging it on the coat hook to the left of the door, revealing the tattoos that zigzagged up and down his bare, tan arms. A black ring glittered on his middle left finger, standing out starkly against the white ink that swirled down his forearm, and he ran this hand through his hair, exhaling wearily. He didn’t even look in Koujaku’s direction before entering a door off the main room, and then returned with what appeared to be a furry white noodle under his arm and sat on the couch. Koujaku recognized the fuzzy object as Mizuki’s Allmate, Jojo. He stroked the sleeping ermine absentmindedly.

“Mizuki? You okay?” Mizuki seemed to break out of a trance, glancing around before seeing Koujaku’s worried face.

“Oh. Hey, Koujaku. I didn’t notice you were there.” Mizuki reached behind the ferret-like Allmate’s ears and powered him on. Jojo sprung to life, scaling Mizuki’s arm and settling onto his shoulders with a happy chuckle.

“That reminds me…” Koujaku produced Beni from the inside of his sleeve, and powered him on.

“That’s the ferret!” he chirped excitedly, dive bombing Jojo into the couch. Then the little sparrow alighted on the coffee table and made a nest in the ashtray as the two Allmates began chatting. Hell knows what they talked about, Koujaku thought. Mizuki looked a little disappointed that Jojo had gotten himself otherwise engaged. Koujaku tried to engage him again.

“So, Mizuki, did something happen at work?” He played with his earrings idly, not making eye contact.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “But it’s not as important as this job Toue just gave me. He wants me to find this unsigned kid that he’s been hearing a lot about lately on the streets, but I’ve got no idea who he is. That’s why,” he gestured towards the stoat Allmate wearily. “I was gonna do some research. But it’s probably just as well that I don’t go after him right away. I’m not too sure about how successful he’d be on the label, anyway.” Koujaku raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t typical of Toue to send one of his top producers to recruit anyone, let alone some unknown hood rat.

“Shouldn’t that be someone else’s job?”

“Mmm. Things have sort of… gotten weird, so I’m pretty sure he’s trying to send me a message by making me do grunt work.” He didn’t elaborate on what he meant by that, and Koujaku got the feeling he shouldn’t pry further.

“So what’s this guy’s field? Must be something really out there, since Toue’s pretty much got a hand in every genre.”

“I haven’t heard any of his stuff yet, but Clear tells me that some people are calling it ‘experimental hip-hop meets rapcore meets trap’, whatever the fuck _that_ means. His name is, uh, Blue-something.” He waved a hand dismissively, as if he were swatting at a fly. He paused, peering at Koujaku. “Do _you_ have any idea what that is?” Koujaku shook his head. “Whatever it is, it’s probably a real fuckin’ headache.” Mizuki, on a roll now, swung forwards, putting his elbows on his knees, and gave Koujaku a stern look.

“You know what I really have a problem with?” He didn’t wait for Koujaku to ask. “This kid probably thinks he’s such hot shit and has such a shitty life, but I can guarantee he has it way better than most of the kids in my neighborhood. And to top it all off, he’s just some _white guy_.” He spat out the last words acidly, a foul look coming across his face. Koujaku frowned.

“What do you mean he’s just ‘some white guy’?”

“Hey, no offense, man. I’m just stating facts.” Mizuki raised his hands apologetically. “Hip-hop and rap, historically speaking, stemmed from the anger of black communities in response to their mistreatment at the hands of the government and the inherently racist foundations of American society. So white people _can_ rap, it just doesn’t have the same power and meaning behind it. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Mizuki…” Koujaku rubbed his temples. “I AM JAPANESE. _We’re both Japanese_. Technically speaking, no one from this island is white. Hell, I didn’t even know that was your natural skin color. I assumed you just went to the tanning bed a lot.” Mizuki gasped, slightly offended at the suggestion. “My point is, rap is an international phenomenon, and it’s really not our place to decide whose rap is more or less legitimate solely based on the amount of oppression a person has experienced.”

“Well whoop-de-freakin-doo, look at this guy who thinks he’s some sort of social justice warrior!” Mizuki suddenly clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide in shock. “Oh man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be that way.” Koujaku shrugged it off.

“It’s cool, man. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been told to check my privilege. I’ve kinda gotten used to it.”

“Anyway, I’m just concerned about this Blue guy being a total prick.” Koujaku sighed, thinking of his own blue prick he had to deal with. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the blood in his veins froze. _There’s no fuckin’ way._ He immediately opened up his Coil interface and did a Toue image search on the web.

“Hey Mizuki, you sure you can’t remember that guy’s whole name?”

“I dunno, it was something dumb. Something like, I dunno, Sneaky Blue? He’s got his own website he posts his tracks to and everything, you’d think he would’ve thought up a better name.”

As the results to the search loaded, the color drained from Koujaku’s face, and a faint whisper of a ‘ _No’_ escaped from his lips. He was looking at the cover of Sly Blue’s self-titled album, which featured a hooded, blue-haired man wearing a respirator mask. The man stared back at Koujaku with a pair of golden eyes he was all too familiar with.

“Mizuki?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m downloading the album right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The Confrontation! Dun dun DUUUUNNN! I think the next one is gonna be switching perspectives mid story a bit, but it's nothing too major. See you next week, and thanks for reading! :)


	4. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren has confronts Aoba with Koujaku, and Koujaku confronts Aoba about Sly Blue. By the end of dinner, a lot of secrets come out.

Ren was nervous. This wasn’t entirely unusual, however, because as a kid he’d basically been in a constant state of anxiety over one thing or another, and now that he was older and in a committed relationship, it seemed only natural that those feelings would translate to him fussing over Aoba all the time. But this was something entirely different. Instead of being nervous for Aoba like he normally was, he was nervous for himself. Aoba angry was unpredictable. He never did anything to Ren, of course, but back when they were in the band his arguments with Koujaku almost always became physical. Now that Aoba knew Ren and Koujaku had stayed in contact all these years, he probably wouldn’t be responsive to his usually pacifying presence.

Ren sat at the kitchen table, anxiously rolling a tennis ball between his hands in an attempt to slow his pounding heart. Aoba was upstairs showering, and Tae was out for the evening, so there was no way she’d worry if this ended up taking long. He considered calling the restaurant again to be sure that they wouldn’t be causing any problems. He picked up the tennis ball, put it down again. Picked it up. Put it down. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck. He started drumming his fingers on the table instead.

“Hey Ren.” He jumped, and whipped his head around to see a clean and freshly-dressed Aoba leaning on the doorframe. He hadn’t even heard him come downstairs. Ren stood, planting a kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead. He tried to smile his normal smile as he started locking up the house behind them.

“So, how was work today?” he asked Aoba, tucking a strand of dark hair behind his ear. Aoba started to tell him, Ren smiling and nodding at the correct times. _Don’t act like there’s anything wrong,_ he silently repeated to himself. _There’s nothing unusual going on. I’m just going out for dinner with my boyfriend. That’s all._ He measured his steps, keeping them rhythmic and in time with Aoba’s slightly shorter strides.

“Ren?” he was suddenly brought out of his thoughts by Aoba grabbing onto his arm, pouting.

“Hmm?”

“Pay attention to me.”

“I was paying attention.”

“No you weren’t. I said I tripped over some wires and broke a few parts and all you said was ‘that’s great’!” Ren winced. Luckily the place they had reservations at was just around the corner, and they were quickly shown to their table.

 

“Ren, what the fuck is this?” Aoba hissed under his breath.

It wasn’t a real question. ‘This’ was Koujaku, wearing an old red kimono, waving sheepishly from a third chair at their table. He smile seemed strained, and his eyes looked like his thoughts were preoccupied. _Good,_ Aoba thought. _Then he won’t see me coming._ He felt his muscles tense up, preparing to spring, but a touch on the shoulder and a look from Ren made all of his aggression melt away.

“Aoba…” It was Ren who spoke now. “Aoba, I decided that this has gone on long enough. We need to talk about what happened.” Ren’s warm hands kneaded his shoulders, working all of the tension out of them and turning Aoba to putty in his hands.

“That’s unfair.” Aoba grumbled. He hated when Ren did that- it worked on him just like rocking worked on a baby. Koujaku took the opportunity to speak.

“Look, Aoba; I broke the contract because I felt too pinned in. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.” He shrugged and adjusted the hem of his kimono. “I mean, being ‘the cool kid’ is fun when you’re thirteen, but after a while it’s just…depressing. It got too repetitive for me. Smiling. Posing. Letting them dress you, write your speeches, pick out your dates… I felt like a puppet.” He glanced upwards, meeting Aoba’s gaze. “But believe me, I had no idea they would actually terminate your contracts when I left.”

“But they _did._ All three of us being present was a part of our contracts, and since _you_ broke it, we forfeited any rights we had to any profits or royalties made by the group.” Aoba leaned forward, eyes narrowing, “We even had to negotiate the rights to using our names. I almost had to legally change my name to Aobert! _AOBERT!_ ” Scowling, Aoba crossed his arms and turned away. “Do you have _any_ idea what that’s like? You got to go off on your own with the whole ‘lifestyles of the rich and famous’ shtick while Ren and I got fucked over. The studio _blacklisted us._ ”

There was a stormy silence.

“I just wished you said something to us instead of keeping it secret, okay? We could’ve talked about it, figured out what we could do next. We could’ve tried negotiating with the talent agency, maybe. But I get it. You didn’t want to waste any more time with us, so you just lied and left.”

Something in Koujaku seemed to break, and he hands down on the table angrily.

“So I fucked up, okay? I know that. We all know that!” His voice rose. “But I’m sure as hell not going to sit here and listen to _you_ preach to me about the truth!”

Aoba’s stomach dropped. _He wouldn’t fucking dare._

“About a year before I left. In Spain.” He turned to Ren. “Remember how Aoba lost his voice and we had to cancel our shows for a few weeks?” Ren’s brow furrowed. _Of course he remembers,_ Aoba thought. _He spent the next day force-feeding me watered down lemon juice to ‘help me recover’._

“That’s not what really happened.” Aoba glared at Koujaku, trying to tell him to shut up. It was ignored.

“Aoba wanted to go the club the night before a show. Managers said no. But you didn’t give a fuck. You ditched our security team, snuck out in the middle of the night, went anyway.”

“Koujaku,” Aoba growled, “Shut the fuck up.”

“I get a call from Aoba. Lots of music in the background. Says he needs me to come get him, to come by myself.” Aoba tried to rise from his seat, but Ren’s grip on his shoulder had turned to iron.

“I get there and some drunk eurotrash kid says Sly’s in the bathroom, and he’s crying, trying to tell me he told Sly it was a bad idea, but I’ve got no fucking clue what he’s talking about, so I just push past him and I see Aoba in there, drunk and high off his ass, puking his fucking guts out.”

Aoba watched Ren’s face very carefully. He was a pretty stoic looking guy on the outside, but Aoba could always tell what he really felt. And right now, he was _pissed._

“We get to the ER, and they end up having to pump his stomach for alcohol poisoning and needed to hook him up to IV for a few hours while he got the drugs out of his system. The bile burned up his throat something awful, so the manager decided we should cancel the show and tell everyone he lost his voice.” He sighed, looking at the floor. “Apparently he’d been going by the name ‘Sly Blue’ for a while and getting into all sorts of trouble at different clubs. Management specifically told me to never tell the details of what happened to anyone.”

Ren, who’d only been growing more and more concerned as Koujaku spoke, was now making a face like a person dealing with a persistent migraine. He massaged his temples with one hand and exhaled slowly, a sure sign, Aoba knew, that he was trying to retain his composure. After a few moments, he finally spoke, his deep voice even and flat.

“Why...why are you telling me this _now_?” Aoba blinked. He hadn’t really thought about that. Why _was_ he telling Ren about that now? At this point it was long over, so why…? The realization hit Aoba like a sumo wrestler, and his eyes widened in alarm. _FUCK. Fuuuuuuck._

Koujaku activated his Coil, pulling a shimmering window into existence, displaying Sly’s album cover, holding it out for Ren’s scrutiny.

“It seems Aoba’s not as out of the music business as either of us were led to believe.” Koujaku said, throwing a venomous glance at Aoba. Ren frowned, squinted at the picture, shook his head.

“It’s definitely you,” he nodded. “But honestly, I’m not mad or about it. I’m just confused as to why’d you keep this a secret.”

Aoba avoided making eye contact. There was a reason for that, too. He suspected Koujaku knew, too. The kimono-clad man produced a pair of ear buds from inside his sleeve and plugged them into his coil while Aoba squirmed in his chair.

“It probably has a little to do with this…” handing them to Ren, Koujaku pulled up a tracklist and selected track 02. Aoba winced as he saw Ren’s face change upon the start of the track. The track, titled _Thrust,_ opened with sound samples he’d taken of himself jerking off, and continued his verses over his increasingly pornographic moans and thumps. Ren’s face turned bright red, and he covered his mouth with his hand, giving his boyfriend a look Aoba had never seen before. Was that… disgust? Embarrassment? Arousal, even? Koujaku shut off the song around the 2-minute mark, and Ren, flushed a deep scarlet, stared at Aoba with his amber eyes.

“H-how…Why…”Ren made vague hand gestures, but failed to communicate his question. He swallowed, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “How many people have heard this?”

Neither Koujaku nor Aoba answered, one looking extremely uncomfortable while the other twiddled his thumbs and avoided eye contact. Ren’s eyes widened and he straightened up abruptly.

“Guys, _How many people?_ ”

“It’s been one of the top downloaded tracks on the site for three days now.” Koujaku finally muttered sheepishly.

“WHAT.”

“To be fair,” Aoba said hurriedly, “I was _going_ to tell you.”

“ _When?_ ”

“I mean, _eventually_. I didn’t think anyone we knew would find it this early. That’s one of the reasons I used a fake name.”

Ren looked pained.

“Oh my god, Aoba, what if Tae found this? Your grandmother should _never_ be exposed to anything like that.” Aoba sighed exasperatedly.

“Look, I know you might have a hard time believing this, but my grandma isn’t going on the internet to look for independent hip-hop albums. She’ll never know.”

Ren was about to retort, when Koujaku interrupted.

“My mom died, guys.”

Aoba froze mid-gesture. They both looked at Koujaku incredulously and responded simultaneously.

“ _What_?”      

“What the fuck, Koujaku.”

“That’s the other reason I wanted to meet up with you guys.” He explained. “Figure’d you should know.” There were a few moments of shocked silence before Ren asked hoarsely,

“How?”

“A few years ago she went to a doctor to check out these pains she was having. Turns out it was ovarian cancer. By the time they caught it there was nothing they could do.” He ran his long fingers through his black hair absentmindedly, the gleam in his eyes seeming to dim. He sighed again, straightening up. “Look, I’m sorry to just dump that on you so suddenly. If I waited any longer I think I would’ve kept it to myself.”Aoba shook his head.

“Why didn’t you call us?” Koujaku gave a mirthless laugh.

“I dunno. Pride, maybe? I figured you’d probably think I deserved it, or something.”

That hurt. Sure, Aoba thought, he _had_ been pissed at him for a while after the band broke up, but there’s no way either one of them would’ve told him he deserved to be an orphan. Both he and Ren knew that was difficult even in the best of circumstances. Koujaku exhaled and rose from his seat.

“Uh, listen…is it all right if I just head out now?” he swallowed, scratching at his left wrist. “I have a couple of things I need to take care of, and I already feel bad about ruining your evening…” He waited a moment, and sensing no objections from either one of them, turned away with an awkward wave. “I-I’ll see you again soon, I promise.” He turned and walked away quickly, managing to get out of their line of sight before the tears began to well in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really hoping to have this wrapped up in one chapter, but after I finished writing the above section I realized I'll need at least two more to bring things to a satisfactory close >_>; In the next chapter, we learn more on why Koujaku is acting so whack about Sly, and Aoba meets up with Sasquatch. Thanks for reading!


	5. I've Been Drankin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koujaku cries more while Aoba gets white boy wasted. Also, Mink appears.

                Koujaku had barely made it three doors down when he heard Ren’s deep voice from behind him. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Koujaku felt his face burn scarlet, glad Ren couldn’t see his face. He hated crying in front of people, but he hated crying in front of Ren the most. His stoic concern might be comforting to Aoba, but to him it just felt condescending. He was older than both of them- if anything _he_ should be the mature one.

“Koujaku, wait.”

“What?” he replied, internally wincing when it came across snappish.

“I’m sorry about your mother. I had no idea.” He paused. “I was selfish. I never thought you were dealing with so much on your own.” There it was again, Koujaku thought. That big brother bullshit.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” He felt Ren tense, hesitant.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Sly Blue before now?” Koujaku turned to face him.

“I didn’t think it was going to be an issue. I figured he’d gotten over that shit.” He paused, wondering if he should tell him the truth. “And honestly…I thought it was better if you didn’t know the details.”

“Koujaku…what the hell happened?” Koujaku, frowning, motioned for Ren to follow him. He leaned against a low wall and stared up into the dark, smog-filled sky. He glanced back at Ren, who was staring at him intently.

“You sure you want to know?” Ren nodded. Koujaku, sighing again, looked back down at the ground.

“Well, I told you I found him on the floor in a club bathroom, right?” Ren nodded again. “So I’m shouting at him, dialing for the EMTs, and trying to ask him what the fuck he took so I can figure out what to do with him, and he just starts giggling hysterically.” Koujaku’s face contorted in disgust at the memory. “But it wasn’t like, a normal laugh like the shit he always did for the cameras all the time... it was- it was _wrong,_ okay? Like… _deeper._ No,” he shook his head, “No, it wasn’t deeper, it was _darker._ Sadistic, almost.” He glanced at Ren, who looked pained. “This idiot is collapsed on this grimy tile floor, vomit and sweat trickling down the sides of his face, eyes dilated like an owl and he starts fucking _laughing_.” Koujaku brushed his hair out of his face wearily. “It… was probably the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” They were both silent for a few seconds.

“So,” Ren started, “Do…do you think he’s been doing stuff like that this whole time?” Koujaku shrugged.

“Honestly, you’d have a better idea of that than me.” Ren laughed, a bitter, regretful laugh.

“Obviously not. Koujaku,” he sighed wearily, “Despite what you think…Aoba doesn’t trust me as much as he trusted you.”

“What?” A small, sad smile crossed Ren’s face.

“It’s true, okay?” Ren’s smile vanished. “I mean, he loves me. But he doesn’t trust me. For all I know this whole Sly thing could have been going on for years.” His brow furrowed. “He literally has an entire second life I know nothing about.” Ren’s eyes drifted to his shoes, and he put his hands in his pockets. “What if you never said anything? He said he was going to tell me, but…” He trailed off. Koujaku straightened up, and hesitantly put a comforting hand on Ren’s shoulder. He smiled, hoping it looked as confident as he was trying to be.

“I’m sure he would’ve told you soon. You and Tae… you two are the world to him. He wouldn’t keep something like that from you for long.” Ren smiled gratefully at his empty reassurance.

Koujaku paused, licking his dry lips.

“Ren…if I’m being honest…there was something else that happened to me. I wasn’t planning on mentioning it to Aoba…but given what’s going on, I think it’s good for you to know…”

 

Pouting, Aoba played with his silverware idly. Ren told him that he’d be right back, but knowing how his heart-to-hearts usually turned out, it’d be a while. He figured the night couldn’t possibly get any worse, so he’d already gone ahead and finished three cocktails. Aoba knew he was a bit of a lightweight, but right now he was so pissed he didn’t even notice the telltale pinkish hue creeping across his cheeks. _Stupid Ren, always being so nice to everyone._ The fork flew out from between his fingers and landed on the floor with a soft thud. _Shit._ He leaned over to pick it up and bumped his head on his table.

 _“_ Shit! _”_ he swore aloud, rubbing the back of his head tenderly. He flung the fork back on the table angrily and slumped in his chair like a petulant child. _You know what,_ he decided, _I’m gonna get really drunk and get Ren all worked up through dinner and then go home and pass out without having sex with him._

He giggled to himself, taking another sip of his drink. Yeah, THAT would show him.

Damn it, he had to pee. Without sitting up, he lazily looked around for the bathrooms. Ah, man. He’d actually have to stand up and find them. He put his drink down and reluctantly pushed himself up from the table, wobbling a bit.

 _Maybe I_ will _suck Ren’s dick,_ he thought on his way back from the bathroom. His boyfriend _did_ have a nice dick, after all. Thinking about his salty taste, Aoba smiled to himself and blushed, but then froze when he saw someone sitting at the table. _That_ wasn’t Ren. Shit, did he go to the wrong table? He glanced around, thinking for a second he might have turned left too early- but no, that was the right table. His unfinished drink sat sweating into the linen tablecloth.

“Who th’ fuck are you?” he slurred, motioning at the man. Seriously, who the fuck _was_ this guy?

His brown, braided hair framed his chiseled, stony face, and despite the fact that it was dark and they were indoors, he wore a pair of aviator sunglasses. The giant of a man-who, even seated as he was now, was way taller than Aoba- didn’t respond, but instead produced a small pipe from the inside pocket of his duster, filled it, and lit it.

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here.” Aoba grumbled, slumping back into his chair. The man raised an eyebrow, leaned back, took a deep drag of his pipe, and forcefully blew smoke in Aoba’s direction.

“The fuck, man?” Aoba spluttered as he waved his hands in front of his face. “You wanna fuckin’ fight or somethin’?” The man chuckled, finally responding.

“You’re Aoba Seragaki, aren’t you? You’re shorter than I imagined.” He lowered his sunglasses and peered intensely at Aoba with green-blue eyes.

“So what? I’m not giving autographs or any or that shit.” Aoba said, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Besides, I could still probably kick your sorry ass,” he spat. (In reality, Aoba probably had better chances winning a fight with a silverback gorilla, but he’d already drank enough to get to the point where he felt like he was much stronger and faster than he actually was.) Smirking, the man pushed his sunglasses back to the bridge of his sharp nose.

“No, you’re not Seragaki. This is Sly Blue. Good. That’s who I wanted to talk with anyway.” He took another drag of his pipe, exhaling the cinnamon-smelling smoke upwards. Aoba squinted at the hippie bird man with suspicion.

“What, ya got beef? Well, fuck off, I’m on a date. Why don’t you go bother that Virus fucker if you wanna set up a match?” He took a swing of his drink, avoiding meeting the man’s eyes. They unnerved him, for some reason.

The tall man leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pipe dangling between his fingers.

“This won’t take long.” Aoba turned to him cautiously, the pink booze blush on his face making his look of intensity almost comical.

“The name’s Mink.” The man began. “I’ve had my eye on you for a while now.” He took another drag from his pipe. “Word on the street has it that you’re a pretty good rapper.”

Aoba grinned smugly, taking another sip of his drink. He didn’t need to respond. They both knew he was the best in town. Maybe even on the island.

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” he said, waving a hand. “You’ve got talent. Way more than those bozos who formed that boy band thought you had. Their mistake was that they tried to make you into something you’re not. I don’t want that.”

“What I want,” he continued, “Is what you’ve shown on this.” He produced a copy of Sly’s demo out of his seemingly endless pockets. “It’s raw- depraved, even… especially that second track. But people can’t get enough of it.” He returned the CD to his duster, and took another puff from his pipe. “What I want,” he repeated, “Is for Sly Blue to sign with Scratch Records.”

Aoba opened his mouth to reply, but Mink held up a hand for him to be silent.

“Since we’re an independent label, you’ll have total creative freedom. No limits, no taboos. Just give us a chance to make you ours. To make you a star again.” Aoba felt his heart flutter. _A star._ No more working a shitty job just to help make ends meet. No more feeling his life was already over at 23. No more resentment towards Koujaku.

“So,” Mink said, “What’ll it be?”

“I- I don’t know… I need to talk with my boyfriend about it…”he stammered. Mink emptied the ash from his pipe onto a small plate on the table. Leaning forward once more, he removed his sunglasses and fixed Aoba with a steely gaze.

“Sly Blue doesn’t have a boyfriend. Sly Blue is a filthy, sexy cumslut who doesn’t need anyone’s permission to do what he wants- isn’t that right?” Aoba’s pulse quickened. Mink was right. Wasn’t this what he wanted? To matter again? To live the life he always wanted to live? Mink held out a massive hand in offering- a promise waiting to be made, a deal to be struck.

Aoba downed the last of his drink in a single gulp, and shook hands with the giant. The pact was sealed. Mink smiled, and replacing his sunglasses, he rose silently from the table, passing Aoba his business card before he turned and left.

For a few minutes after he left, Aoba was still processing exactly what just happened. Then he smiled. _This calls for another drink._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, drunk Aoba is probably my favorite thing to write in this whole fic. Aoba's pretty much canonically a sloppy, sassy drunk anyway. Next week, in the final chapter of Golden Boy, Ren learns about Aoba signing a record deal while he was plastered and Aoba figures out that making a life altering decision without consulting your boyfriend is not a smart idea. Thanks for reading!


	6. Little Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sly gets a record deal, nothing will quite be the same for either Ren or Aoba. But they don't know that yet.

By the time Ren got back to the restaurant, Aoba was already four sheets to the wind. He didn’t even have to talk to him to know he absolutely trashed. Ren sighed. Sometimes he felt like he was dating an oversized child. When he approached the table, Aoba’s face lit up and he gave him an excited wave.

“Ren! Oh my goooood, Ren, come here!” Aoba stood up unsteadily and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, leaning on Ren’s shoulder for support. His face was flushed, as it always was when he started drinking. (Ren always thought it was sort of cute.) Aoba, standing on his tiptoes, wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and nuzzled his neck, making cute noises as he did so. Ren felt the eyes of the restaurant employees on him and felt his face redden slightly.

“Hey, Aoba,” muttered, “how about we take a seat?” Aoba pulled up, looking into his face curiously as he smiled.

“Okay. You first.” Ren untangled himself from his grasp and took his seat, only to have Aoba flop onto his lap, legs swung off to one side. Aoba laughed, grinning, and draped himself over Ren’s shoulder again. “Mmhmm.” Aoba said into his neck, “I like this better, too.” Ren sighed, his patience starting to wear thin.

“Did you order your food like I told you to?” Aoba shook his head.

“Naaaah. I was going to, but I was mad at you so I had a few drinks first. It started out as angry drinking but then ended with happy drinking after that guy left. But I’m getting sorta hungry right now, actually. Oh my god, Ren,” he sat up, gasping. “You know what sounds awesome? Let’s go to McDonald’s.”

“Wait a minute, what?” Ren put a hand on Aoba’s cheek, looking at him with concern. “After who left? Koujaku?” Aoba laughed again.

“What? No. There was this really big guy,” Aoba gestured to indicate the man was very tall, “And he said he liked Sly and wanted to put him on his label.” He giggled again and whispered conspiratorially, “I think he thought I was hot. But don’t worry about it, because you’re way cuter than that guy.” He moved to kiss Ren again, but Ren held him back, suddenly serious. Aoba looked hurt.

“Aoba, you told him you’d think about it, right?” Aoba looked away guiltily.

“I don’t wanna talk about him,” he mumbled, nuzzling Ren’s neck again. Ren felt Aoba’s left hand groping its way up his thigh. He stopped it, irritated.

“Aoba, what did you tell him?” Aoba pouted, and tried to kiss him on his mouth, but Ren pulled away. His arms trapped, Aoba pressed himself against Ren’s chest and wiggled in his lap, rubbing up against his cock.

“Rennnnnnnnn….” He whined pitifully. “I don’t even care about that guy, I just care about yooooou. I wanna be with yoooou.” Ren tried to ignore the lush warmth coming off of Aoba’s skin as he buried his face in Ren’s hair again. He shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed, and felt his own face becoming flushed.

“Aoba, not here,” he whispered tersely. Aoba grumbled that he was being no fun. “Aoba, listen.” He repeated, taking his face in his hands. “Aoba, I need to know what you told that guy.” Aoba turned sullen.

“I might have said yes.” He mumbled. Ren pulled back, his face filled with concern.

“You _what?_ ”

“I said yes, okay?” Aoba pouted. “I didn’t think too much about it. I just said yes.” He shifted again, this time pulling a business card from his back pocket and flicking it at Ren. “Here.” He crossed his arms grumpily. Ren glanced at the card. It simply read:

SCRATCH RECORDS INTERNATIONAL

MINK

CEO/FOUNDER

Underneath that there was a Coil contact number. Ren distractedly kissed Aoba on the cheek, hoping to appease him, and slipped the card back into Aoba’s pocket. Aoba beamed, relieved to see that Ren wasn’t mad at him. In truth, Ren was mad at him, but at this point there wasn’t much he could do about it, so he took the situation in stride. Besides, it was hardly the first time Aoba had made a decision he’d had to clean up after. It was an annoyingly persistent aspect of their relationship, but one he wouldn’t change.

After paying the bill, he found himself dealing with getting Aoba home. He could still walk, so that was good, but Ren had to continuously redirect him from doing something stupid or trying to have sex with him in public. Eventually Ren gave in and they did end up getting McDonald’s, which sobered him up a little. It wasn’t until the next day, when Aoba woke up naked with a blinding hangover that Ren told him about what he’d discussed with Koujaku.

When Ren came downstairs, Aoba was slumped over the kitchen table, nursing his head and tightly gripping a cup of black coffee.

“Good morning.” Ren leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Aoba groaned, and he bit back a grin. It was always this way. He took his seat across from him at the table.

“So,” he asked, “Do you remember _anything_ about last night?”

“After getting signed? I know we went to McDonald’s, but after that, I _vaguely_ remember… purple?” Aoba looked puzzled. “Why do I only remember a color?”

“Ah, that’s probably because you tried to eat an entire jar of grape jam.”

“ _Tried_?”

“You missed your mouth. I had to strip you down and hose you off in the shower.”

“ _Oh my god_.”

“You also kept trying to suck my dick.”

“ _Shit._ ” He crumpled up in shame. Ren stifled a laugh. There was a momentary silence.

“You won’t be that wild when Koujaku’s around, you know.”

“Hmm? Yeah, he’s still probably weird about the whole gay displays of affection thing.”

Ren wasn’t talking about that, but he said nothing.

Instead, he just smiled and reached across the table to hold his boyfriend’s hand.

Aoba would find out later. For now, this would be Ren’s secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided since this was an ongoing series I would split Koujaku's story between this last chapter and a single chapter fic that will take place a little later in the timeline. I hope you'll come back to read the continuation, whenever I write it.   
>  In the meantime, I'm going to be writing a multi-chapter companion story about Clear and Mizuki in this universe. Which I am very excited for. Thanks again! :)


End file.
